In my dreams I save you
by AmyNY
Summary: Hours passed, slow and torturous and he stared at the dark ceiling, at the wooden dragon figure on his night table and thought of screaming. Of leaving right now, in the middle of the night to find her. Post 2.12. Merlin's POV


**Summary**: Hours passed, slow and torturous and he stared at the dark ceiling, at the wooden dragon figure on his night table and thought of screaming. Of leaving right now, in the middle of the night to find her. Post 2.12. Merlin's POV

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, not even the lyrics at the end; they belong to the band The Script.

**AN**: This little fic is a result of me wanting to see more of the aftermath of the events that took place in 2x12. We did not get to see much of Merlin's reaction, besides that little scene with Gaius at the end which sort of inspired this. Bonus points if you can guess where I got the title from :)

-oo-

That very first night after she disappeared in Morgause's arms he went to bed late - after releasing Kilgharrah, sleep was the last thing on his mind. Still his body begged for rest and he caved eventually, falling bonelessly on the cot, sleep claiming him as soon as his head hit the pillow. Then the nightmares came - her face, pale and ashen, eyes wide, asking him the question her lips couldn't voice. Trembling, slender hand reaching for him, clawing, fingernails digging into his shoulders until he felt them penetrate the skin and saw blood color his jacket crimson, until he screamed so loud he woke Gaius.

He wasn't even aware he was sitting up in his bed, shaking until the cracking of his own door brought him back to reality as Gaius came into his room. His raven hair was damp with sweat, eyes purposely turned away from the old physician that stood in the doorway, no doubt casting him a look filled with worry.

"Are you alright my boy?"

"It was nothing, just a nightmare," he said reassuringly, even as the images still played in front of his eyes as real as the old man standing before him. Gaius reluctantly turned and went back to bed. For the rest of the night he didn't dare do the same.

-oo-

Merlin was up at first light, finishing up the stew that was left lying there untouched since last night before heading out as Gaius slept soundly.

For the first time he came to work early, earning himself a questioning look from Arthur and quite a few remarks he took without complaint, too weary for their usual morning routine and banter. Eventually the prince gave up and even if he did noticed there was something wrong with his servant he did not get a chance to comment on it since it was on that very afternoon that the news of dragon attacks came, and from then on Merlin was focused on nothing but helping Arthur save Camelot, dark circles diminishing the determination that was evident in his tired eyes. Between helping Gaius with the wounded and trying to keep Arthur safe he had not a minute to spare for rest, which suited him just fine because sleeping was the last thing he wished to do now.

The next few days were absolute madness, a roller-coaster that took him from hope to disappointment, from an almost childlike joy that overwhelmed him at the sight of his father to the crushing, sinking feeling of loss of yet another person he cared for. It got to a point when even he had to wonder how much more his own body could take and yet he pushed forward, ignoring Gwen's protests and his own damn mind, for every moment he spent being idle was a moment spent thinking about things he rather would not think of.

The only way he managed to get some sleep was when his own body would force him to, and he'd simply collapse on the nearest available surface or a forest floor. Sometimes he dreamed about saving her which was a fate more cruel for he'd wake up so relieved he'd actually laugh, feeling as if the giant weight has been lifted of his chest, before he'd remember, actually remember - her limp body, heavy in his arms, eyes closed, never to look at him again - all his doing, and the smile would fade, the truth of what he's done sinking in, wrapping around his heart like the web of a spider, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Bit by bit, his own body was betraying him. First the weariness and grief weighted him down then the guilt paralyzed him. Still he moved forward, for Arthur, for Camelot, for his father who has sacrificed his own life for him. If only he knew...

Unconsciously he clenched his fist, fingers pressing on the tender flesh until his palm turned red, until the pain was distracting enough for him to forget his father's warm brown eyes staring at him, hollow, devoid of life. He'd gladly laid his life for a boy he met only briefly, for his son. A son undeserving of such sacrifice, Merlin thought bitterly.

That morning by the river he went and pleaded with his father, with all Gaius told him Balinor was - a good man when he himself wasn't sure who he was. There was a death he carried on his soul, one worn out by the choices he was forced to make. He was far from the innocent boy who first walked through the gates of Camelot and now there was another one, not caused by his own hand but equally as heavy. The second loss in almost as many days.

All of it has changed him deeply, and he was left struggling to recognize the person staring at him in the mirror. Sunken cheeks, forlorn, tired eyes looked on accusingly.

Was this the man that the fate of Camelot rested upon? A man his father died to save?

-oo-

After it was all done, after the adrenaline of 'defeating' the great Kilgharrah and saving Arthurs life once again has worn off he still had to return home, to his own room.

Stepping into the familiar physician's chambers was a relief, his dinner waiting for him at the table filling his heart with warmth, but even as he ate the chicken with fresh, delicious bread his eyes kept wondering to the door of the small backroom, as he dreaded the moment he'd have to retire for the evening.

Eventually he ran out of the excuses and things to do and had no other choice but to go to sleep. His body relished the feel of soft, solid surface and fresh, cool sheets against his feverish skin and his eyes slowly closed. Despite his best efforts he felt himself sinking, giving into the inviting darkness. But every time he let go the images came, fast and unforgiving and he woke, gasping for air, unconsciously checking his hand for blood but finding nothing but pale, white skin. He was fine.

Hours passed, slow and torturous and he stared at the dark ceiling, at the wooden dragon figure on his night table and thought of screaming. Of leaving right now, in the middle of the night to find her and tell her he was sorry and then sleeping for hours afterwards.

In that half-awake, delirious state an idea occurred to him. Slowly he tiptoed his way to the shelf with the potions and with the shaky hand he took what he was looking for. A sleeping draft.

He fell asleep with the empty bottle in his hand and dreamt of nothing.

_(Of a goodbye he didn't get a chance to say, of a girl he once knew and an apology that will never be enough.)_

What would she think if she saw him now? Would she think he has suffered enough? Did he pay his price, with sunken cheeks and watery eyes he wondered but no answer came.

-oo-

For the entire lonely, torturous year that followed that empty bottle of sleeping draft stood beside that figurine of the dragon as a reminder.

Morgana may be gone but if she ever does return to Camelot he'll grab her by the hand and show her that and tell her he'd paid his price, oh how he's paid.

And maybe she'll forgive him one day. Maybe he'll be able to look at that wooden dragon without crumbling to pieces.

But he'll never be that boy again.

And that is a loss he'll never recover from.

(the end)

_And I hurt so bad, that I search my skin for the entry point, where love went in  
and ricocheted and bounced around, and left a hole when you walked out…_


End file.
